Cleaning Up the Past
by DreamEscape16
Summary: Adapting is never easy, especially for a brainwashed assassin who is used to have everything done for him. Post Winter Soldier.
1. Chapter 1

**Cleaning Up the Past**

**All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing**

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><p>The rich scent of dark roast coffee wafted in the air of the entire apartment. It is a comforting and familiar smell of the past that Bucky responds to as he brings the ceramic rim of a full mug to his full lips, and inhales the steam making his nose twitch.<p>

He kept his head lower and eyes focus on captured, tarnished photographs of the Brooklyn he remembered growing up on the paved streets, the smell of yeast hovering through clusters of brownstone apartments, and the mystery hidden beyond the shadows under the iron structure of the bridge.

His metallic alloy hand flipped through the sealed plastic pages, as he scanned his dismal gaze over memories of the Howling Commandos, the great men he served, fought and lived with on the battlefield when he was a young sergeant of the 107th infantry, carrying his Springfield rifle through the thick darkness of forest, leading his group of men through the rapid bombardments of heavy artillery fire, inhaling the cold stench of death, dirt and blood as his laced boots sunk into the muddy earth. Those are dim fragments of memory, glimmers of past that he can only relive while he stares at the footage and photo albums. He was blinded by darkness, forced to wear scales of red over his eyes, and thrown into a coffin of ice. He was alone and forgotten.

He wanted to wipe the slate clean, restore his vitality and finally taste the freedom of escaping the horrors of his condemn past. Sighing, Bucky keeps his lips neutral, his chiseled, heavy jaw flexed and his eyebrows twitched up as he read silently over the coffee stained articles preserved carefully in thin coatings of plastic, he always focused on the easy words since he still reads most of his collection of library books through Russian translation. He felt still trapped in a world of isolation, prosecuted by his demons and paralyzed by truth. He martyred himself to caution, fighting against the urges to kill, to slay a life, he battled with his existence every day. He was slowly crawling out of the pit, embracing the light the world has to offer. Every day, he found a new word in the dictionary to use when he speaks to people. He knew his name, his birthday and the location of his parents' graves. He knew that he was once an honorable soldier, a decent kid from Brooklyn, and that he is the best friend of Captain Steven Grant Rogers.

When he slipped back into the void of the Winter Soldier, he just needed to stare into the stern, crystal blue eyes of his friend to pull from out of the red, suffocating chasms of HYDRA. Steve was always there to save him. He knew that Steve was his hope that always shines in the darkness of his nightmares.

Now, Bucky was adapting to the normalcy, although he rarely goes outdoors, he restored the humanity that was stolen from him by reading, talking and eating. He loved Steve's cooking, no more boiling food in a pot of water. He had acquired a taste for cheesy pizza, ice- cream and anything that makes his taste buds jump within contact of flavor. He never felt the emptiness in his stomach.

"Hey, Buck?" Steve's calm and serene voice echoed in his ears. It had become a distraction, grumbling under his breath, the reformed assassin whipped his head alarmingly up, and glowered at the super-soldier with his intent, feral glacial blue eyes. His eyebrows creased into a line of confusion as he raked his sharp gaze over his best friend, standing in the doorway of outside the guest bedroom.

Steve inched closer, clad in his workout clothing-a white muscle shirt and jeans fitted perfectly at his hip line. He wore his spiked golden locks ruffled and part at the hairline as the sunlight gleams in his steady blue eyes that twinkled with enthusiasm and life. He looks like an offspring of the Greek goddess of war and wisdom, bright lights sculpts over his jagged cheekbones and chiseled jaw as he stands outside the room with his empowering strength, nobility and compassion. "Do you want to do something fun?"

Bucky pinched the ridge of his nose, trying to ignore his friend's words, but then he cocked up one eyebrow, unsure how to reply. He swallowed and narrowed his piercing stare at the hand towel clutched in Steve's large hand. "What do you have in mind?" he asked with a simple question growling under his breath and he timidly grimaced/

"I want you to start taking care of your own laundry." Steve speaks in a firm voice. "When you're living under my roof, I expect you to clean up after yourself, Buck." He leveled his unyielding gaze at Bucky, taking a moment to muse over his friend's visage. He was still baffled on how much Bucky has change in the past six weeks, his laden dark brown, shoulder lengthened hair was trimmed and ended at the nape of his broad neck. His complexion was a healthy glow and facial curvatures smooth. He looks like the old James Barnes again, apart from the wavy hair. Steve notices lines of abuse under his blue eyes, hidden scars etched in layers of skin and needle marks on the side of his neck. Inside the barriers of his body, he felt the knots of remorse churn in his stomach, but he refused to allow his friend to see his own torment.

He averted his passive eyes, and fixed gaze on piles of clothing, books and empty milk cartons. "Buck, you need to start caring about your life. This room looks like a mess. I want you on your feet, soldier and pick up your clothes."

"Don't give me orders, Steve." Bucky uttered out a fierce growl, his jaw tightened.

"Alright, as your friend, I want you to clean up your room and follow me to the washing machine."

Scowling, with molten anger flashing in his eyes, Bucky nodded at Steve, seething angrily as he rises from the bed, and started gathering his heaps of clothing from the floor. He did not say a word and trailed behind the tall soldier with slow and methodical steps of purpose until he halted in front of a massive washer filling with cascades of water. He threw everything into the drum of machine, poured a cup full of liquid soap and slammed the metal top shut. He pivoted on his bare soles, and glared at Steve. "Are you happy now, Rogers?" he grunted out, stiffening his lips.

Steve curved the edges of his lips into a small, tentative smirk and replied back, "Well, it's a start, Buck."

Bucky growled up his throat, and shook his head. "You're an annoying punk, you know that right?"

"Yeah." Steve unabashedly smiled back, mirroring a tender gaze at his best friend leaning against the washer. "I know..."

Shaking his head, Bucky slung his metal plated arm over the span of Steve's shoulders. "You're also a good friend. " He declared with an honest voice. "One of the best I have ever known, Steve."

Steve felt a piece of his broken heart mend back into place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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><p>He was drenched, his muscles seared with feverish heat. Pulling off the upper half of his spangled uniform, Steve felt his chest breathed with relief. He countered towards the fridge, opening the door was his emptied stomach growled for nourishment; he didn't ignore the urges.<p>

Involuntary, he lifted his head and locked his crystal blue eyes on the glass shelves, deciding his choice of meal, but then, his mind conceived an idea of having something simple and sustainable without leaving heaviness in his stomach. Cereal. He grabbed the carton of two liter milk, placed it on the table, and moved to the cupboards, and reached for a box of a healthy banana flaked and nut mix of cereal.

Not even a second timing, Steve turned around and stared at the empty carton of milk on the table, a few linger drops spilled on the chair. Cocking his eyebrows into a questionable expression, he set the cereal on the countertop, and advanced closer to the table, intently studying the evidence in the dim lit kitchen. He fastened his lips into firm line, analyzing the details of the situation before reaching his conclusion. It wasn't a neighbors untamed house cat or a wandering stray fending for its survival in the streets of Brooklyn. This clearly had Bucky Barnes written all over it. He knew his reformed best friend was slowly adapting to normalcy, but draining a full carton of milk in a few seconds was inhuman to comprehend.

Maybe HYDRA spliced him with cat DNA. Zola was debased mind after all, Steve thought lifting the carton to his eye level, and watching a few more drops of milk escape from the half opened seal. "Bucky?" he called out, feeling his chest stiffen when he listened to a fierce growl erupt from the darkness.

Within moments, the Winter Soldier emerged from his obscured comfort zone, moving into the kitchen in slow methodical strides that almost seemed ghost like. He tossed glower at the super-soldier with his murderous, piercing azure colored eyes. His ominous face was vacant, but there was a hint of a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his full lips. "You rang, Stevie?" he said in a half-growl emitting from his throat. His eyes fixed on Steve's stern expression.

A coy grin shadowed darkly over his lips, "What?"

"Did you just empty a full carton of milk, Buck?"

Systematically Bucky shifted his blue eyes on the carton gripped in Steve's hand. "I don't remember..." he used a voice laced with heaviness and confusion, and falsely pretended that he never touched the milk, even though his upper lip was painted with white coating. He was trying to manipulate Steve into believing his deceiving words.

"You don't remember, huh?" Steve asked, trying to suppress a faint smile urging to unveil over his soft lips. He lowered the carton down, and folded his vigorous muscled arms over the bare planes of his chest. He leveled his intense stare of blue on Bucky, trying to hold a firm expression, "Why do you have milk drying over your mouth, Buck?" he gave the assassin a pointed look.

"Big deal, Rogers," Bucky snapped dangerously, clenching his jaw. "I like milk. So what...It's not like you're keeping it for your health shakes and I have no idea what you call those boxes in the cupboards."

"Cereal," Steve returned, smirking at his friend's tone of voice. "I don't mind if you have three glasses of milk at night. I will appreciate it Buck, if you left enough for me." He paused in his words, his fingers clenched as a heated breath scraped over his throat. He dared himself to face the stormy blue eyes of his guarded friend, inching closer as Bucky leaned his slender frame against the wall. His metal hand made a haphazard gesture to the table. "Why don't we sit down, and I'll fix you a bowl of cereal. It's been almost two days since you had a decent meal. I blame your hot-blooded Irish stubbornness."

Bucky's eyes turned into a livid shade of darkness, "I'm not hungry," he protested, trying to hide the gnarling sounds rumbling from his stomach. "I don't want you fixing me anything. I can handle everything on my own. I'm used to it." his voice dragged out, and lips stifled into a faint grimace. "I can only eat what they order me to taste..."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows into a crease, "They?" he questioned, his chiseled face tightened. "Do you mean HYDRA?"

A heaving sigh rolled from the assassin's rigid frame. "Yes, HYRDA." he growled, tasting the bitterness drip from his lips. "Most of the time I starved, but they used to inject nutrients into my body after my defrosting process. Sometimes I forgot what food tasted like..."

"Bucky," Steve said his lips pulling into a sullen frown, "I didn't know, pal."

"It's not your fault, Steve," Bucky echoed back in a fray whisper, cradling his metal arm over his mid-section. "It was never your fault."

Steve shook his head, disdainfully "Stop pretending that I did everything in my power to save you," he choked and the walls of his chest rattled, he tried to recompose himself, but the iciness of guilt raked over his heart. "I didn't."

"Steve," Bucky spoke in shudder of a breath, he moved tentatively closer to the counter, pressing his palms over the ledge. "I wasn't your mission, you had..." He searched for a word as he watched tears fall from Steve's eyes. The dull ache of pain reemerged from his heart. "...you had to stop HYDRA from destroying the world. We were soldiers, battle harden and tough as steel. You couldn't stop and fall with me...You were always meant to be something great, Rogers. No matter what, Zola and the other bastards tried to take away from me..." He struggled to spit out his words, trying to hold back the tears glistening in his wolfish like eyes. "You were always on my mind." He gave his friend a warm and sloppy smile, reaching his blue eyes; he knew in a moment that Steve would mirror his tenderness.

"You're still a big jerk," Steve gave him a lopsided smirk, sniffling as his blue eyes shone against the muted light. Bucky returned with a mischievous smirk and then looked down at the carton of milk. "Don't worry about it, Buck." he assured softly. He strode to the fridge and added, "I've got a full bag of it on the lower self."

Bucky walked to the table with his bare feet padding undetectable steps, and then he pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down with a low grunt as his response. His eyes lit up and lips pressed together when he listened to the chortling noise of milk being poured into a bowl of a small mountain of size cereal. He latched his eye contact on the two bowls gripped in Steve's hands and cringed at the dry and sweeten smells of banana and wheat. "What's that?" he crinkled his nose, scoffing at the cereal.

"A light meal that has everything you need-including milk." Steve answered, placing the bowl in front of Bucky. "Trust me; this stuff is better than boiled oats."

Bucky didn't say anything; he lifted the bowl to his face and drained the milk from it, while chewing on pieces of shaved almonds and nuts. He lowered the bowl down, and used his metal hand to wipe the bits of food off his chin. He licked the corners of his lips with a fast swipe of his tongue and looked at Steve and said in deep voice, almost like a demanding snarl, "More."

Steve smiled to himself. He couldn't help, but hold a smile on his lips. He felt his heart swell up, knowing that his friend was finally eating some normal food. Lifting a spoon to his mouth, he asked Bucky in a simple question, "Why did you drain that carton of milk?"

Bucky swirled his finger over the rim of bowl, "If Alexander Pierce was here I would make him tell you at gunpoint," he smirked darkly; his pale blue eyes intense. His feral glare was unnerving. "Do you have any more milk, Steve?"

Steve shook his head silently, and continued eating his cereal.


End file.
